Halfway
by patronuses
Summary: "Of course, Tony's words only half-confirm the foreign idea, but the half-confirmation is enough because that's their style, isn't it? When things don't include dead bodies and life-threatening situations, these two only ever do things halfway." Tony/Ziva


A/N: I figured that I'd try my hand at some McGee. I don't think I did too bad. As always, thank you for reading!

EDIT: I'm going to make this a trio story. I like it too much to simply leave alone.

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><p><em>Half-Confirmed<em>

There is no denying that Tony DiNozzo is drunk.

He's actually more drunk than Tim McGee has ever seen him, but on the surface, it's hard to tell. Tony is steady in his stool next to his long-time probie, and the usual signs of drunkenness are nowhere to be found. Though, they're sitting so any lack of balance would be hard to pinpoint anyway, but Tony tends to be rather poised, so McGee isn't completely sure how it would play out if they were standing. The glazed-over eyes are hardly noticeable because his eyes always tend to have a weird sort of glint in them. The glint is childish, youthful mischievousness, probably. Or something of the sort. Lord knows that his actions reflect the idea.

The middle-aged man swirls his glass absently, bright eyes following the movement with his head cradled in his palm. McGee watches him carefully.

Tony is used to being intoxicated. It's one of those things that McGee knows but keeps hushed because they all have skeletons in the closet, don't they? He has his beloved characters, and Tony has his beloved bottle of scotch. The image of his friend sitting his empty apartment is a vivid one with the seemingly iron-clad, semi-stable agent drinking away pains that plague him more than any sickness ever has.

Though he doesn't completely know what happens between the hours of twilight and sunrise, McGee is no fool. He knows that there is more to the senior field agent than meets the eye. The thought of Tony, battling inner demons alone, makes him feel uneasy, but hell, this is Tony, and Tony always has a way of eliciting the emotion.

So, on the surface, Tony is together, but McGee knows it's a different story within. Nothing is making it more clear than right now, sitting in a buzzing bar on a Friday night with all the shields and guards and layers of lies discarded. Tony isn't shedding a tear. There is no tremble to his voice. He isn't breaking down, at least not visibly, but McGee is starting to think otherwise because it's Tony's words that ultimately reveal his heart.

It makes him wonder if Tony is always fighting inside like this.

It must be exhausting.

"… McGee, I mean, how? How is she _here?_"

The weary probie sighs loudly and wonders exactly the same thing. The action proves difficult. It's too hard to think clearly. There's a layer of fog settling between him and rational thinking. If he squints, he can make out the outline of the thought, but he can never get the whole picture. He's working with a half-brain, always a step behind. This makes him feel certain that he's tipsy too, enough so that he chances a glance behind him and sees a certain Israeli ninja in deep conversation with a certain CIA agent. It isn't a smart idea, and instantly Ziva catches his gaze with a sharpness that makes him jerk his head back toward the bar in front of him.

His head throbs with well-placed fear because even though there are witnesses all around them, McGee is certain that said ninja would not hesitate to beat him to a pulp if given a good reason to. Her eyes drill into the back of his head, sharp and precise, and yes, that alone is enough to confirm his suspicions.

"I don't know, Tony," McGee tells him weakly.

"She knows we would be here," Tony says, pausing to drain the drink in his hand in one shot. The bitterness leaves the man wincing. He slams down the glass, very narrowly avoiding cracking the bottom and snarls, "Is she trying to kill me?"

This sends McGee's already-spinning head whirling. Coherent musings are proving to be hard to come by, but he is able to form a question, hoping that Tony is drunk enough to simply answer the question instead of dancing around it like a sober Tony would. "Why would she try to kill you by coming here?"

Tony gives him an annoyed, doubtful look. The corners of his eyes are blood-shot, and _now _he's visibly drunk. While that should concern McGee, he can only register the expression on Tony's face. The annoyance is one that he recognizes because Gibbs gives it to him on a daily basis. It's one that stems from impatience and some weird notion that McGee should be able to read minds. _He's acting like I should know what's going on._

He blinks slowly.

"I don't understand."

Tony being bitter, scoffs. "Of course you don't."

This stings McGee. They're friends, aren't they? He wants to understand and Tony's acting rather coldly. Then he remembers that Tony is drunk. Nonetheless, it takes a moment for him to recover from the bite. He prods at the subject gently and says quietly, "You think she's here because _we're _here?"

"I think it's less about you and more about me, but yes, McGee. Devious little thing, isn't she?"

The two of them fall silent.

This half-confirms the idea that McGee has entertained on more occasions than should be healthy. It's not healthy to imagine his highly-incompatible coworkers together. It's even less healthy to write a series of novels based around said coworkers and spinelessly claim that said novels have nothing to do with said coworkers at all.

But then again, his coworkers are even less-healthy than him.

Their tip-toeing is nauseating to witness day in and day out. Their ability to work and sustain such a relationship is beyond him. It's a tug and pull - or is it a push and pull?_ - _but nevertheless, it's something that would drive the normal person to insanity. The level of utter insanity in all of this, in fact, is mind-boggling. One moment, McGee's certain that they're the most ill-matched pair in the world, but the next moment, in one glorious moment of clarity, it becomes palpable that maybe, they're not so mismatched after all. Maybe it's the little things, the things they have that _are _compatible that make it possible. Sometimes, it sure seems like it. When they do flow, they flow a little too well. Too well for regular old partners, anyway.

McGee keeps this to himself because sometimes it seems like he's the only one who thinks so, but on nights like these, he's not so sure. Tony certainly seems attuned to the concept of a partnership that's more than just the rusty, though reliable, partnership that already exists.

Of course, Tony's words only half-confirm the foreign idea, but the half-confirmation is enough because that's their style, isn't it? When things don't include dead bodies and life-threatening situations, these two only ever do things halfway.

"You think so?"

Tony puffs out a breath of air, sounding just a tad defeated, "I know so."

"But why would she? She's got a boyfriend."

McGee finds himself being glared down by a pair of drunkenly angry eyes. He regrets his choice of words immediately and reels backward, trying to catch himself before Tony decides to punch him in anger that may or may not be completely directed at him, "It's a strange thing, but it's Ziva. It wouldn't be the first time she tried to make you jealous, right?"

He can't exactly pinpoint an instance in which this has happened, but he figures that their cat and mouse game includes some form of jealousy. It must. It should. For the sake of his face, he hopes so.

Tony pouts and crosses his arms menacingly, seemingly letting McGee's slip-up slide and thus confirming his guess. He sits in a stony silence, his glare now fixated on the bottles of alcohol sitting on the bar shelf in front of them. This makes McGee want to dart for the door, but there's no way he'd let himself leave now, not when he's on the verge of a grand discovery.

Though, he can't help but think, what _isn't _wrong with these two?

"It's not fair," Tony says softly. McGee half-thinks that Tony would be whining if circumstances were different, but it appears that he hasn't got the energy tonight. He tilts his head back and to the side, looking at McGee with a pair of broken down, worn out eyes that send a chilling shudder down his back in surprise. "I've been here."

McGee's heart aches for his friend. Next to him, McGee can finally see all the pieces laid out for him to see. All the pieces of Tony. He deserves more credit, that's for sure. Tony is one hell of a soldier, marching on, moving on, not once complaining about the battle he's fighting day after lousy day. He wonders how it must feel to be fighting a losing battle but being unable to turn away. McGee had no idea that it ran this deep, that in a strange, unheard-of way, Tony, the chronic bachelor, is in love with her.

McGee can't help but place a hand on Tony's shoulder.

The battle-ridden Tony misreads the action and jerks his body away, thinking it was out of pity. If there's one thing in the world that Tony DiNozzo hates, it's being pitied. That's why he's a soldier with his armor, all business, all defensive. He reverts back to his duties, and all the raw openness is zipped up and tucked away, leaving only the decaying armor on the outside. It's armor that McGee is suddenly able to penetrate through.

How was he unable to see this before?

He wonders: _Does she know? Does she see this?_

Tony doesn't say anything and stares down at the glass cradled in his hands. The glass is more clenched than cradled, and McGee takes note of that, wondering if his slightly-new question is really one that should be asked. It's an invasion of privacy, but he wants to know, has to know, and softly, he speaks.

"Tony, back when you were undercover..."

And so he asks the question again, even though it's one that he has asked on numerous occasions before, because really, he isn't really sure if he believes his friend's answer at all. Especially considering this new information. There are too many things that he would never understand about his two coworkers, things tangled together in a web of complexity that he couldn't even begin to unravel. He studies the face of the man sitting next to him and can't quite grasp the emotions, despite knowing that it's an armor, protecting the real emotion inside. "You were faking, right?"

Tony gives him a sideways glance, his lips touching rim of the glass he's about to drink out of, and despite that McGee can only see the corner of his friend's eye, he could see the twinge of longing swelling within him as he breaths a soft, "Yeah" in reply.

This makes McGee shudder. His answer is worse than if it were a "No, we were faking" purely because of the look in his expression. It has to be illegal for someone to be in that much pain, right? Tony can't be that beat-down. This is Tony, all laughs and smiles and wanting beautiful girls. Tony can't be fighting a war, can't be losing hope, can't be ready to shatter. He just can't because he's far too good at pretending that everything's okay, that he's just a chronic bachelor fitted with a gun and badge.

McGee can't wrap his head around how deep this runs.

Sure, he knew that there was something, but he didn't expect full-blown a love triangle. He was perfectly fine with thinking that it was just another case of wanting-what-you-can't-have, but now he's not too sure. He's not too sure of much of anything, right now. There are too many drunken thoughts and revelations. But he's rather certain that this is more than just lust. This is more than that, something bullet-proof, and perhaps even stronger.

He just isn't really sure how strong is strong. Nuclear, maybe?

Just as the idea of dragging Tony out of the bar and to a taxi floats into his head, a finger taps him once on the shoulder.

McGee looks at Ziva warily with all the new-found discoveries fresh in his head. She stands over him, visibly tense. He's afraid that she can see the secrets on his face written in permanent marker, that she knows that he has discovered the truth about them. Ziva has good instincts like that, with her being part bloodhound and all, and it'll only another moment before she smacks him and - She gives the two of them a smile.

A relief floods him. Maybe she isn't completely magical. Or ninja. Or bloodhound-like. Whichever description fits the present situation.

"Do you want to join us?"

Ziva touches Tony's shoulder in the same place McGee touched him a moment earlier, but unlike how he reacted to McGee, he doesn't pull away. Tony stares at her with the same unconcealed emotion from before, his carefully worn armor falling away in an instant. And Ziva doesn't even give McGee the slightest glance as she speaks, actually. The ninja only has eyes for the soldier, and the soldier only has eyes for her.

McGee wants to smack his face at how stupid he was to miss the relationship that was clearly and bluntly obvious. If that makes any sense.

Tony presses his lips together and raises a hand up to the shoulder she's holding. With a deliberately slow motion, he lays his hand over hers, covering it easily. McGee is surprised that the action is so easy and thinks he's about to squeeze it or pull her to him, but then Tony picks her hand up and takes it off him to let it fall back to her side where it belongs. _That isn't what is supposed to happen._ McGee feels the air constrict around them, and he jerks away from them because this is something that he isn't supposed to see. Something intimate between the two of them.

And again, he's baffled by how complex this really is.

McGee is about to move away, about to make some excuse about having to be somewhere, but Tony speaks and obviously doesn't care at all that McGee is still sitting right next to him, hearing every harrowing word.

"I can't," he whispers brokenly.

McGee himself squeezes his eyes shut at the sound of Tony's voice. He's never heard it like that. Not after Kate died. Not after he lost Jeanne. Not after Jenny died. Not after Franks. He can't imagine of Ziva feels. He doesn't _know _how Ziva feels. She must feel the same way, right, because this is Tony, lovable, irresistible Tony, and Tony's her partner, with her through thick and thin.

_Why isn't she with Tony through the thin?_

"Why not?" Ziva breathes.

McGee's eyes are still squeezed shut.

"You know why."

"Tony, if you do not like him -"

"_Shut up._" Tony's voice goes from broken to growling in a matter of seconds. There the sound of air being dragged into lungs. He repeats, though softer this time, "Shut up. Don't do this. Don't do this to me."

McGee wants to scream at them. He wants to grab them and shake sense into them. He wants to look at them and shout, _Don't you see? Why are you making this hard? This doesn't have to be hard! Look at yourselves, you're miserable. Why can't you see?_

"I've made my position very clear, Ziva."

This time, it's Ziva's voice that breaks McGee in two. He's heard her sound like this on a couple of rare occasions, and every time, it's played on his heart strings like a harpist. Now, it's the both of them sounding helpless. The dynamic duo, the partners in crime, the well-oiled machine, breaking down right in front of his very eyes. The worst part about it is that they're breaking down for a reason that isn't necessary.

"I can't."

Tony swallows hard enough for McGee to hear. His voice breaks as he says, "Then I guess I have my answer." McGee hears Tony's deep breathing, and he can only imagine what the look on his face is like.

Ziva tries to defend herself. "You've come too late. We've had our chance."

McGee shakes his head. _Ziva, don't do this to him._

"Do you have something to say?"

McGee snaps his head up and finds that Ziva is glaring at him. Fear trickles into his throat, and he can't speak. Instead, his eyes widen, and he becomes convinced that she's going to kill him for staying next to them and eavesdropping, even though it really wasn't eavesdropping in the first place. She wouldn't really care if it was his fault he was listening in or not, would she?

He swallows, "No, I don't. But..."

McGee stands now, feeling more secure on his own two feet. He towers over Ziva now, and while it doesn't help his fear disperse entirely because she'd still be able to take him down with one blow, it gives him enough courage to speak his mind. It could also be the alcohol buzzing in his veins. He isn't sure, but he doesn't care.

He can't stand to see the two of them like this.

"I think that this is harder than it needs to be."

Ziva's expression falls. She knows he's right. McGee isn't sure why there's so much complexity in their relationship, and he definitely isn't going to stick around and find out. This is ultimately their issue, one the he can't even begin to imagine being solved in the near future anyway, so he gives the both of them a shrug with one shoulder and starts to move away.

But after a couple of steps, he has the urge to say one last thing. With only a slight glance back at them, seeing Tony slumped in the bar stool and Ziva standing against his knee, McGee says, "Though, if it wasn't worth it, you wouldn't be in this mess."

And he genuinely believes that.

McGee walks out of the bar feeling like a different man.

A different man who is also equipped with bountiful harvest of fresh ideas for Agents Tommy and Lisa, that is.


End file.
